Rehab: My Name is Draco
by wyvern-elavie
Summary: DH Compliant Mostly . Post-War. War gets rid of the rage, it does not get rid of the hate. Draco knows this, and he's hoping to change it, one person at a time. Starting with himself. HarryDraco


**Disclaimer:** HP Characters not mine. Four words to express my gratitude.

**A/N:** Just an idea I've been playing with in my head for a little while. Un-Beta'd.

* * *

_I'm sick of it! I'm sick of this, I'm sick of you, and I'm sick of your good-for-nothing ability of fame. If you really wanted to change the Wizarding World, you would change this._

* * *

A man's glory is not in his fame, but the legacy to move people within that fame.

Draco Malfoy had one such ability. However, this did not mean that said ability was welcomed.

He tore through the streets of summer London, hoping that among the people he passed by, none were wizards and witches. Of course, there was the off-chance that someone didn't recognize him, but that person had either been hit with an Obliviate or lived under a rock.

He was hoping most of the Wizarding population had done the former.

Draco clutched the bag of warm contents to his chest, using the large paper bag to hide his face, never mind the bangs he had grown out over the past few weeks, but still that blonde hair couldn't hide from everyone.

A tiny girl with hair red as Gryffindor fire stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Malfoy," she spat, concealing none of the venom in her heart.

"Weaslette," he spat with equal fervor. This was by no means a one-sided relationship.

Covering the gesture with her long spring sleeves, she stuck her wand into his exposed stomach, almost causing him to drop the contents of his bag.

"Filthy pureblood." Draco could start laughing; it was fucking ironic. He could thank Fate later, he was too busy having fun. "You killed my boyfriend's godfather, my brother, and my friend, and so many more. I don't know why the fuck Harry let you go. I love him, but there are just some things I don't agree with."

"Yes, yes" Draco rolled his eyes. He'd been told this very same speech time and again. "Join the club, I hear they're having a party next week on the subject."

A flurry of brown hair reached the pair and quietly disarmed the both of them at an extremely short range.

"Draco, let's go."

The blonde followed the girl the short walk to her flat in the city, going up the stairs he found so normal now, only after their very short friendship.

After all, Draco had never thought to find refuge in Hermione Granger.

This friendship did not extend to her love interest-side of the Great Potter Family, but Hermione's was welcome even more because of it. Draco had been sentenced to probation due to… something other he wasn't exactly paying attention to at the time. (Who could? You're up there on the stand and you could anything from 30 hours of community service to the death sentence for being the youngest death eater.)

Hermione laid back on the couch while Draco took the fish and chips out of the bag and set them on the coffee table.

"I don't get it. Hatred's what fueled the wars in the first place. If anyone had even been paying the least bit of attention in Binns' class, they would realize that picking on purebloods would just make it worse."

Draco laughed and patted Hermione on her ever-bushy brunette hair. "Rethink what you said about Binns' class and then everything might make more sense, love."

Hermione scowled and swatted Draco's hand away, and moved to hug him. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Draco attempted to look aghast as he mocked, "Impossible? I thought that title only belonged to your Weasley-boy. I am ashamed to be in the same category as that lot!"

Hermione stuffed a potato in her mouth and motioned to the table. "Eat, child. Unlike Hogwarts, this food isn't going to keep itself warm."

It was possible that they could charm the food to keep itself warm, but there were a few problems with that. Draco's wand was on probation, which means that the spells it could perform were limited to things that could or would not be used to harm anything in any way, shape, or form. And unfortunately, that included a simple warming charm. Draco had to memorize so many specific spells that he started muttering them under his breath in his sleep for a couple weeks in.

Hermione, acting as Draco's guardian away from his guardians for the time of probation, had also taken the same vow, as encouragement for Draco. At first, he had sneered and kept all muggleborn related comments to himself, but now found it extremely motivating, knowing he wasn't the only one suffering.

Draco's probation had required a sponsor of him, and having no relatives left save for the newly born Teddy Lupin, Draco very well couldn't take a sponsor from his family. All his friends were in a similar program, and even his parents were gallivanting around Europe promoting wizard-muggle relations. That's when Granger had stepped up. She deemed herself the most relatable to him of all the wizards he knew, and within good reason. She knew exactly what he was going through right now, having been made fun of herself. Draco was happy that someone who wouldn't be plotting revenge knew the same as he did, though he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty that he was the one that did that damage. Besides, she had wanted to help, and this was the best way she knew she could. She was still too young to have a real job in the Ministry, and she wanted to finish her college degree before then and specialize in Wizarding Politics. Draco applauded her for such, it was much more useful than rushing head on into things, like Weasley, Potter, and their Auror training.

The duo finished their dinner with the normal camaraderie, and then headed separate ways. They had both agreed in the beginning that both needed their "me" time during the day and night. Post-dinner was one of those times. For Hermione, it was Ron time. For Draco, it was being real.

He shut the door.

Stupid, filthy creatures. They all took so much fucking pity on him. Oh, poor Draco. He's all alone in the world and he's got nobody. The Malfoys are so fucking pathetic!

Draco threw his and a various pillows across the room, not really caring where or how they landed, or what they decided to break. Draco's valuables had all been left at the Manor.

Poor, pitiful Draco. I'm the only one that understands what you're going through. I know what it's like to be you. Fucking liars, the lot of them. They don't know what it's like to be on the losing side. Fucking hell. They've never lost a House Cup, a Quidditch Cup, had they even lost anything? Merlin, these gits had the nerve to say they knew what it was like having people stare at you with malice beyond the innocent's imagination, to have people throw things at your face just because they despise you that much.

To have everything inside you ripped apart and slowly mend itself back together again.

Oh, yes. Draco knew this one very well.

Just because he was a wizard didn't mean he was entirely dependent on his wand.

He took out a small Swiss Army pocketknife from inside a drawer. Another rule between Draco and Hermione was that privacies of rooms could not be breached without expressed permission, for which Draco was thankful.

He stood over the sink in his bathroom, eyeing the blade and running his index finger along the flat. The cold metal prickled against his skin and it made him shiver. The cold was always the best part. He took the blade and ran it over the tattoo on his left arm, teasing the skin. He turned the knob and wet the sink a little bit. He hated it when the blood stained on the sink. It changed the white color into something less pure. He didn't like leaving his mark like that.

Silver sliced into the skin and tiny beads of red appeared on the tip. He dragged the blade across the outline of the tattoo, making sure that no black mark on that outside line went untouched. When it deviated off course (dragging in a smooth motion was no easy task), he wiped the blade and started again. There would be no mistakes this time, or the time after that, if needed. He squeezed his arm and watched the blood drip down into the sink, bright red and fresh from the blade. The metallic scent consumed him and Draco almost fainted in desire.

"Yesssss," he hissed. This was real.


End file.
